


Salvage

by Darkhymns



Category: The Death Gate Cycle - Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman
Genre: F/M, Memories, Memory Loss, Romance, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-09 02:22:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkhymns/pseuds/Darkhymns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Odd, but I can't remember mothering my own child. I suppose I did. I suppose I must have. All I seem to remember is wandering about this empty house, dusting the furniture."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A result on what happens after re-reading Serpent Mage one too many times.
> 
> Next chapter will be better okay promise

_With old age comes loss_ , Orla reminded herself,  _even for a self-made god_. That was how it had always been. Experiencing memory loss should only have been expected.

It was not the old, ancient world that she was forgetting. The images of a long-gone ocean, of landscapes rushing across its surfaces, of ice-capped mountains and dry deserts, were still with her. She recalled the expansive cities of the mensch with vivid clarity, populated by buildings constructed of glass and streets that yawned out black. They had been times of metal, light and electric movement. Every day had been an intense experience that threatened to slip through one's fingers, where colors and notes reigned in a chaos that was anathema to her people's designs. That had not been the Sartan way, and she had been urged to try to temper it down with steady hand motions, to ease away the cacophony with her soft songs. For she was Samah's wife, part of the Council of Seven, and she could save the mensch from the Patryns, from themselves- for that was her role.

But had it always been that way?

When she first woke with this thought playing inside her head, she had felt nothing for it. Not when she knelt on the floor with the strange Sartan, or when Samah had talked to her with his casual indifference. She once tried picturing him as a younger man, tried to recall the day they met, but it was lost to her- or maybe it had never been in her possession to begin with. She could not recall youth, only arguments, followed by the silence within their marriage home. And nothing before.

Their Sartan brethren around them had fluttered, their eyes shifting, wondering which side to take. But there was no need, for she took the other man's hand -he was balding, his clothes frayed, his eyes weak- and remained silent.

It was a role she was resigned to, because it was easier than fighting.

* * *

The strange Sartan, Alfred, was out on the terrace once again of her and Samah's home. He looked out of place, and knew it strongly. What a strange Brother he was, for he refused to change out of his clothes, turning down the white, flowing robes that she had offered. "No, thank you. I don't think-" he had stopped, but the thought in his head continued.  _I don't think they would suit me._  It had been such a sad thing to hear, and there was so much of Alfred that was very sad.

"Dinner will be ready soon," she had announced. She stepped out onto the porch carefully, her footfalls just a whisper across the surface. She had been trying not to startle the poor man, for there was always a cringe to his posture, as if he feared a hand would lash out at him for the smallest gesture.

Even so, Alfred had flinched, though she could see the smile form on his face at her presence. "Oh, alright. Thank you, Orla."

"I have interrupted you," she said, noting his previous stare off into the ocean of Chelestra  _(it is not the ocean I once knew, I must remember)_  despite the waves being far off.

"I was only- I'm sorry, it's really not important." He kept his eyes averted, looking to the floor like some lost child. She compared him to Samah's usual stance; tall, shoulders squared, face as impassive as the marble of their home with eyes that pierced through.

"Please, Alfred. I would not have asked if I was not interested." She looked out across the terrace, her eyes drawn to the blue sky that was an illusion, invoked by the Sartan to reflect past days. "I trust this is the first time you have ever seen such a vast amount of water."

Alfred was silent for a short moment, the light breeze ruffling his shirt collar. "Arianus was once not as water-starved as it is now. Oh, we did not have oceans like here. And rain was always so rare to happen, at least where the humans and elves lived. But we could supply them and their children with enough. We could even control the storms once before, until we…"

She caught glimpses of wilting trees and deserted streets. Yes, he had been the only Sartan to wake up from his sleep as he had claimed, but these images clearly spoke of something before that. They were unsettling, especially when she caught hazy visions of her white-robed brethren vanishing from the streets.

"There was one place with a lot of water though, back on the High Realms," he continued on, the tone of his voice changing. He sounded cheerful almost. "There was this lake once, possibly the largest one around there. It… can't compare to the ocean here, but the size of that lake always intimidated me when I was young."

"Intimidated?" She asked, for why would a body of water intimidate a Sartan, even one who was a child?

"Well, I suppose it was because of what she said to me." He kept his eyes ahead, his smile quiet and peaceful. "Lya would often tell me that perhaps something lived under the lake. Maybe some giant monster with tentacles, or a dragon that could breathe in the water like air. I knew that Ivor told her some of those stories that he picked up from the mensch- and she was always fond of great things like that anyway. I told her that it was probably something nicer than that, like people with fins and scales that made their homes inside the coralite, and eyes like pearls. She'd always laugh at that, but those were the stories we told each other. And I know now that it was all rather silly, but it… helped us. Or at least, it helped me."

Orla said nothing.

Alfred blinked, suddenly turning to look at her. His face was a remarkable shade of red. "I… I'm sorry for rambling on like that. Please excuse me. I was remembering and…"

"Please don't apologize, Alfred." She came up to him, quickly regaining her voice, and took his arm. "Come in, you must be hungry by now."

"Oh, of course." He nodded his head, still looking faintly embarrassed. Through the flimsy material of his coat, she felt his warmth- a pleasant warmth that was made even more so by the fleeting pictures of a young man kneeling on the shore of a lake, a girl beside him, the heat of the day making them discard the hoods of their robes.

When she had woken up from her sleep, she could not remember anything about her own childhood. She then realized how strange that must have been.


	2. Chapter 2

She recalled one thing, finally, after a night of dreamless sleep. It was a small little event when she was a child. The memory relieved her, and she was surprised by the feeling at the same time. She had  _not_ been created from the air to stand by Samah's side, which was a ridiculous notion, of course. But the knowledge made her relax still.

The old world had been filled with greenery, much like their initial designs for Pryan. She had been fond of the trees as a child, at least where the groves were free to grow away from the cities and the smoke. She had made a game with herself once, of how far she could climb up one of the tall trees, trying to reach the top, before her nerve failed her. Each day she would make a little progress, her hands scratched from the bark, her soft robes torn from the action. She would make it past her record a little more, only using her magic to float back down to safety.

She remembered the day that her parents finally made her stop, for there were Patryns lurking in the shadows that they had claimed so vigorously. It was no longer safe for such play, not when there were so many other, much more important things at hand. The branches had been rough in her small hands, the sunlight beating down on her hair. But she had felt the tugging on her arm, drawing her away from the grass.

Even so, it was the only memory of herself that she could recall. Strange, but she could not remember the details of her parent's faces. The years of stasis had done its toll, surely, but the blankness of their persons was unsettling.

She and Samah were seated at the table one morning for breakfast. Alfred was not with them this time, even though she had knocked on his bedroom door. He must have been sleeping, for she had noticed the exhaustion in his eyes the past couple of days. She might as well let him catch some rest, even though she had grown to like his company.

But it was in his absence that Orla knew what else Alfred provided. A barrier, a comforting shield that made Samah's eyes a little less imposing. Times at the table would be awkward still, but she could look to Alfred and release the tension from her shoulders. Right now, all she had was the white table set before her.

"You have not eaten much, Husband," she commented, her gaze fixed firmly on his plate of scrambled eggs, freshly-cut fruit and toasted bread. Only the bread had been consumed, and just the top of it nibbled by an inch.

"I do not have much time." Samah stood up suddenly, the folds made in his robes from his seated posture already straightening themselves into place. "The council will be convened in less than an hour. Perhaps the dog could have it."

She could not help but feel insulted that the food she had taken time to prepare was to become a dog's table scraps. But that brought to mind of another important subject; the dog that had suddenly appeared behind Alfred five days before.

"I fear that Alfred may be having trouble with his task."

"I am aware of this, Wife," Samah said briskly. "And I depend on you to help him realize that finding this man named Haplo is vital."

"Yes, I understand that." She stood up as well, the chair softly scraping against the floor, washed in the same white color of the table, the room, their household. "But perhaps we should consider other things… He has truly already been through so much-"

"And we haven't?"

She was thankful that she had folded her hands in the sleeves of her robes, for her fists clenched at his tone. She could feel her nails drag at her skin. "But he has been alone."

Samah set his mouth firmly, his eyes narrowed.  _Or so he claims._

The thoughts shared between husband and wife were mainly done while out in public, usually consisting of small remarks and mentions of previous arguments, in order to maintain their calm demeanor in front of the council. They would settle their matters (or in Orla's case, concede) in the privacy of their minds, for nothing could be more distracting to the council than clear division.

But she knew she wasn't meant to have heard those words. Immediately the walls surrounding Samah built up higher, blocked away the mental link before she could respond. They were at home however, and Alfred was asleep. She did not need to hold her tongue here.

"Are you suggesting that he is lying?"

"He is barely Sartan anymore, Wife. All you need to do is look at him to see it plain. This Haplo has clearly corrupted him, for why else would he have the dog to begin with? No, I believe  _Alfred_  has not been fully honest with us."

Could Alfred have concocted those images of the crystal beds, the young faces still inside? Could he have made up the image of the lake and the girl beside him? She could not believe that, yet it was true what Samah implied; Alfred would not even give them his name.

"So I remind you what your current task is." He gestured with his right hand toward the household. She then realized she had not been to a Sartan council in weeks.

"Yes, Husband. I will speak to him again."

He turned to leave just as she finished her sentence, his robes hanging straight from his shoulders with barely a flicker of movement. He was that controlled, never allowing a motion to happen without his consent, and grounding it down before it ever could.  _Nothing happens without his approval._  She knew he was done speaking with her, but another question burned in her throat.

"Samah," she dared to say. "Do you remember when we were children?"

The words took her husband off guard. It was only evidenced by a raised eyebrow, along with a shift in his stance. "What do you mean?"

His tone was a warning, and with it came implications and images and other, harsher remarks. Didn't she realize she was detaining him from important business? That there were other, far more pressing concerns? There was a Patryn in Chelestra, a brother who refused to help them, and she was asking about their  _childhood?_  But she remembered how Alfred confessed to his mensch failing called curiosity, and began to understand its power.

"In the old world, there were a plentiful number of forests and rivers. You remember, don't you? Yes, you must. We couldn't have made Chelestra so beautiful without those memories." Her mind conjured the image, now so fresh and treasured. "I used to play in a grove when I was very young- I must have stayed outside for hours at a time. I think other children would join me sometimes, though none ever stayed as long as I did. The trees were very crooked, and sometimes some of the thin branches would snap off in my hands-"

"Wife," Samah interrupted. The images faded away, such as the memory of the sun taking away its warmth. "If there is something you wish to say to me, then do so."

His words left no room for movement. They were straight and proper- and dull.

"Have we never told each other stories?" Orla asked, trying so very hard to imagine this man before her as a happy child. It was intensely difficult, and did nothing but spark off a headache. "I… cannot seem to remember certain things and it is troubling me." Because the forgetfulness terrified her. What if one memory wasn't enough? What if that child she thought she could recall was really nothing but born from a forgotten dream? Was her entire person wrapped up in this room, with this man before her?

"You are tired." At the statement, Samah let his shoulders slump a little, sighing like a disappointed guardian over his ward. "The recent events and news has admittedly been hard on us all. I ask that you forgive me. Please be sure to rest throughout the day."

They were kind words, the sort of words that a devoted husband would say to his dear wife. She felt herself ease a little, wondering as to how she could doubt the man she had pledged her life to. Yes, she was tired. They all were. "Thank you, Husband. But, if you could indulge me for just a moment…"

"The Council is waiting for me. We will discuss all that you want when I return." He gave her a smile, small and strained, then marched out the door of the dining room.

* * *

The last time Orla allowed herself to dwell by the shoreline had been centuries ago, at least she supposed it had been that long. The dragon-snakes that had slid through the seawater, tainting it with their presence, had terrified the all-powerful Sartan. They had knocked the demigods aside on the sand, made their voices hoarse and their movements clumsy. Even Samah had been helpless, wilting against the serpents laughter.

Was it bravery that led her back here? Alfred had simply wanted to take the dog out for a walk, hoping that the time outside in the makeshift air and imagined sun would cheer it up. Orla could see plainly that the animal was unhappy, sometimes whining for no apparent reason and staying curled up by Alfred's feet, dejected.  _It must miss its master,_ she thought.  _This world is too unfamiliar for it to go through by itself._

She supposed it was indifference really, when she had tagged along with the strange Sartan brother in his shabby velvet coat and, well, to what amounted to be the ancient enemy's pet. (And she certainly would have never imagined having one, let alone two, such beings in her company). It would be the only reason as to why she didn't feel uneasy at the sight of the frothing waves.

She didn't see any other of her fellow Sartan near the edge of Surunan. The area was bare, leaving her and Alfred free to explore the white expanse of the sand before their feet. The dog was rushing across the water, legs splashing around in it, his barks high-pitched and his tail wagging. The tides kept moving in and out with force, soaking the animal completely. At one point, it seemed to keep going into the ocean, trying in vain to catch a little seagull that was perched on the surface, easily keeping itself afloat.

Alfred, wide-eyed at the dog's venture, stuttered out a protest. "W-wait! Not so far out!" He started to go after it, wringing his hands like a worried parent.

Orla grabbed his wrist suddenly, nearly making the man tumble backwards. "No, Alfred. You mustn't go out into the water. Did you already forget?"

He blinked at her, confused at first, before remembering the detrimental properties of the seawater. He turned back to the dog who was now paddling over the waves. The seagull had already taken to the air.

"Well, I just don't want it to swim out so much. And I don't know what sea creatures could be out there…" He trailed off, the shadowy images of the dragon-snakes trailing after his words. No, he had not confronted them himself, but Samah and the council had shared them with him. And Orla, seeing the forms shift in and out of the water, eyes lighting up the sand, couldn't help but think that they were even more unsettling in remembrance.

 _Maybe some giant monster with tentacles, or a dragon that could breathe in the water like air…_  She kept her fingers on Alfred's wrist, watching the tide draw to them closer. "Or like people with fins and scales, and eyes like pearls?"

"I'm sorry?"

She smiled naturally. He had that confused look on his face again, an expression she had started to grow fond of. "Those stories you used to tell," she reminded.

"Oh." Alfred coughed in faint embarrassment. "I was just… really young back then."

"So you remember your youth?" she asked, careful to keep the envy out of her voice.

"Of course… Although it has been…years, I suppose. But I do."

He had slept, he had dreamed, like she had. But why did she come out of her own bed to nothing then?

"Although… I suppose it's only been recently."

"Recently?" She stared at him. "What do you mean?"

He hunched forward a little, the ocean breeze starting to pick up and flutter his coat tails. He looked away in shame. "I didn't just have to live around the mensch- I had to be one. For years, I went among them, and… I couldn't tell you how terrified it made me to hear a passing human just mutter an oath to the Sartan when they hit their foot against something. There were stories of us still, along with our magic. If they knew what I was, if they had demanded things of me, I don't know what would have happened. So…I started to forget, until I couldn't even remember my name.

"It was strange, though," he added, tilting his head to the side. "Waking up in the morning, and not knowing who you are."

She thought she could hear the dog barking again, could see the flash of dark fur in her vision. But she kept still, and waited.

Then he smiled, brightening his eyes. They were a pleasant blue, she realized, like the sky she remembered. "Haplo made me remember though. I'm not entirely sure why though. Maybe because he was a Patryn, or because of his magic. But before, all I had was bits and pieces that felt more like dreams than reality. They came back over time. It was painful… very painful actually, once I knew. But the remembering isn't so bad, once you get used to it.

When he was done, he looked at her curiously. "Why do you ask, Orla?"

_Because I don't remember anything about my own youth. I only seem to recall a little girl that tried to climb the trees, and it is only the trees, the grass, the sun, the cities- it is those things I remember well enough. But I don't recall spending the day with my friends, or the day I first learned to sing the runes. I can't even remember meeting my husband. Just the world that is gone from me now, and the empty rooms in my house._

But Orla contained herself, halted her thoughts from reaching Alfred's. What would he say if he only saw white, dusty furniture in her past, in her present, compared to his days of walking through forests of crystal with laughter of all kinds?

So instead she said, "I just like to hear you speak, Alfred."

The compliment was certainly not what Alfred expected. He stuttered, looked down at his shoes, as if ready to bury himself in the sand. "O- oh…"

It was the dog that came to his rescue though, for it was trotting back toward the pair at a fast pace, it's feet now planted on the damp sand. With a joyful bark, it turned all around, dangerously getting droplets of water just a few inches from Alfred's shoes. It kept doing this, skipping around them on all four of its paws.

"What does it want?" Orla asked. She recalled the Patryn man from Alfred's words- younger, with bandages covering his hands, this very dog at his side, with apparently the power to unblock his mind from self-suppression.

"I think it wants to play," Alfred said, uncertain.

The dog barked once again and then, suddenly, grabbed his loose coat sleeve and pulled.

Orla couldn't say for sure how a grown man, even a man such as Alfred, could be so upended by a dog. But he did so, falling none too gracefully on his side just as the tide was coming in. The seawater washed over him completely, his clothes fully soaked through, the velvet coat now turned an even darker shade.

"Alfred!" She rushed over to him, kneeling next to him in the water, taking the large, ungainly hands in her own. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, dear, I…" Though a little dazed, he managed to sit more upright- a bit too quickly for he almost hit his forehead against Orla's. Seeing the woman near him, he couldn't hide the blush that painted his features a light red. "I don't mean to be so much trouble. I know how clumsy I can…"

"Please, Alfred. You need to stop apologizing." She rubbed the back of his hands with her thumbs. "I suppose the dog is just excited?"

It certainly acted like it. It kept rushing across the water, splashing it at them even more. It eventually settled down, staring at the two with its characteristic grin.

Alfred seemed to realize just then where they were exactly. "Orla! You're- you're in the water!"

She paused, then looked down at her knees, at the tide circling around her body. The bottom half of her robe was completely damp, stained with salt and the remains of seaweed. The dog further helped matters by shaking itself all over, spraying her with more droplets.

"I am," she stated matter-of-factly. She could already feel the water nullify her magic, breaking down the cycle of songs and dance residing in her mind. If she tried to hum a note, she would waver. If she tried to choreograph a step, she would fall. And it should've frightened her, for now she was even less powerful than a mensch. She saw her face in the lowering tide, the ripples making strange adjustments to her face.

Still clasping onto Alfred's hands, she started to laugh, softly.

"Orla?"

She felt breathless. The sudden departure of her magic left her winded and vulnerable. But so was Alfred, and they were both sprawled on the shore like the broken seashells that littered the sand. Anything could attack them- the dreaded serpents could come upon them and there would be nothing they could do. She remembered how they had picked her up through the air and then threw her back down again, only to repeat the game until all the air had left her lungs. She could die so very easily at this moment, and her heartbeat was fluttering in a most frantic, pleasant way.

But it felt good to laugh. It felt good to let loose the ache, and she thought, dimly, that she must have laughed like this when she was a child, when she would dangle onto another, higher branch.

She heard Alfred's breath catch in his throat, realized how far she had leaned in close to him. He was very still, and so was she. His hands tightened around her own, the awkwardness that usually plagued them no longer as pronounced.

 _This is a strange moment to be happy_ , she thought. But whether it was the isolation on the shore, or the feel of the water that made it that way, she couldn't really say. It was only the thought of wondering what it would be like to hold Alfred that she finally came back to her senses.

She was not a young fool.  _Just an old one._

Though a tad mortified by her thoughts, she held them in well, as she always did. She moved back, sitting on her knees, and rearranged her face to its proper state. But she couldn't banish the smile. It had taken root, the feeling that had brought it forth now blossoming in her chest.

"I apologize, Alfred. Please." She got ready to stand, still holding onto his hands.

Still a little dazed and unsure about what had just happened, Alfred simply nodded, letting himself be helped to his feet. He stumbled a little, (she couldn't tell whether it was because of the water or him just being Alfred) but was able to right himself again. The dog, meanwhile, had retreated back to the shore, digging small holes in the sand.

She gestured to him. "Your clothes will need to be dried."

"Y-yes," Alfred nodded, following her out of the water. "We won't be able use our transportation spells to go back."

"That's alright," Orla said. "I enjoyed this walk. Why not a little more?"

They were both old fools, she realized.  _Old fools don't have the luxury._  But this nervousness felt new and fresh, even when it shouldn't have. Only children acted this way. Alfred must have recognized such a feeling, from his own past with that girl. She, a married woman, had nothing to compare it to. In a way, she was grateful.

"Of… of course," Alfred finally blurted out, keeping a respectful distance from her, but just slightly. They both made their way down the shore, their bodies a little shaky and recovering from the magic-nullifying seawater, with the dog always keeping a few yards ahead of them, sniffing at the sprouts of green that dotted the surface. They had first arrived at the beach by magic- it would take them two hours at the latest to reach home, and they were drenched to the skin, chilled by the breeze.

 _For now, it should be alright_ , she thought to herself, reaching out to take hold of Alfred's hand.  _For warmth._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually finished a WIP. Fancy that.
> 
> I have never gotten over Orla's death, I will admit this right now. :( And apologies for some melodramatic writing ahead.

 

On the day of Sending, there were arguments again. There was disruption, division, sharp words flung across the Council chamber, like the dreaded arrows that the mensch so often liked to use in their barbaric wars. Orla could not recall when her husband had ever been so angry with her, not even when she had opposed the Sundering.  _There are shadows all around us_ , she had heard, sensing his thoughts reach through her.  _And our enemies wait inside them, wait to strike us down! Do you mean to join with them?!_

To the Sartan, Alfred belonged to those shadows. The corruption of the ancient enemy had infected him to the core. He could not be here to spread the contagion. He had to be sent away, and never find the means back to beautiful Chelestra again. This mild man was more dangerous, more insidious than the young Patryn he was seen with, or even the serpents in their venomous skin. This clumsy man who had stumbled into the sea, his velvet coat soaked through.

"Do I mean to join  _him_ , you mean?" she had asked aloud, noting the confusion on her brethren's faces, the livid rage on her husband's. "A council member has duties to the people, but you do not take my counsels seriously, Husband. You have not heard them at all for many years. I am beginning to wonder if you ever had."

On the day of Sending, she had remembered one final thing.

When Orla was sixteen, her hair a silvery white instead of a dull grey, her skin free from lines and marks, she had already put the thought of her trivial pastimes behind her. There was no more time for walking through the grass or admiring the trees. She had Sartan duties to attend to, and mensch to supervise, so she could not afford to indulge. The difficulty was expected, for prejudices between the races were much too ingrained to simply overcome. Weapons were used, blood was spilled, and there were the Patryns, still in their shadows, mocking the Sartan and their light.

Samah had been correct about that. She could not deny it.

"We must be the firm disciplinarian for these poor mensch," he had mentioned at the previous Council held for the public. He had only been eighteen, but he already towered over most of his peers, his stance tall and proud, his hair a brilliant shade of white. "The Patryns are waiting for a decisive moment to strike. We cannot simply let them be on their way, not when they are so actively against us. It will only be a matter of time before our inaction will work in their favor, for deceit and treachery is in their very nature."

There were a few dissenters in the Council, elders that pleaded for a more cautious path ("It is wise of my brothers to be cautious in their actions, I agree," Samah had admitted. "But it is also wise to maintain a strong force for the possibility of violence."), as well as those who had nodded along with young Samah's words. His own grandfather was Head of the Council, a man that was already going in his years, even for the long-lived Sartan. There had been whisperings of the grandson taking his place when he came of age, but only after a democratic proceeding, of course. Nepotism was certainly not their way.

Orla had been young, eager to find her role in the ever-changing events sparking across the world. Words were not enough, no, for the mensch were afraid and, to be perfectly honest, so was she. How could she change things for the better with all these threats? There needed to be unity among the mensch, just as there was between her people.

"We must stand together and face this threat, for ourselves and our children," she heard Samah speak, his voice clear and resonant, enough that people furthest away could understand. "Division is our enemy, as I am sure my wise and just Council knows, and that is what the Patryns -the true enemy- is counting on."

That was true. To be united was important, more than anything else. She would put it before her own self if she must, for only then could this world even survive. It was such a simple concept- how could anyone oppose it?

"Your parents have spoken to me about you," he had said to her a day later, meeting her on the marble pathway. He was a handsome young man, with barely a line of exhaustion on his face. "Might I ask for your name?"

"I am pleased to meet you, Samah," she had replied, her thoughts clear and bright. And then she had freely given him her own name, knowing he would do no wrong, for suspicion and treachery were words she did not yet know.

She allowed herself to be escorted by him to the public building she had been headed to, just as she allowed their courtship to come into being later on. He was a just man, a good man. And it was only imperious that such a just man would require a wife, who could help share his needs and burdens. She knew that he would be head of the Council one day, and she believed that he would be a strong leader- a leader who could unite them all against the shadows.

So they had walked and courted, all of it expected, all of it dutiful. Their marriage ceremony had been modest, for it was not necessary to spend so much on extravagance. Their duties were much more pressing, all relying on the unity of the Council, on the marriage between husband and wife.

But she remembered, finally, after centuries of sleep, after repeated dreams of grass and mountains and deserts, of when he had grasped her hand as he had escorted her down the path that day. The evening back then had had a chill to it, making her robes rustle and shiver. Even so, she did not feel the warmth of his hand, no press of fingertips against her palm, no hint of a caress or anything of the sort. It was as if she had been grasping air.

It was on the day of Sending that she quit the Council.

And so, standing before her husband's glare, she had taken Alfred's hands in her own, and waited with him to be flung into the shadows.

* * *

The Vortex was exactly what she expected. The Sartan admire order, cleanliness, and wide spaces. Even here, in the very heart of the Labyrinth where her ancient enemy lived in staggering numbers, she was greeted to the same whiteness she had seen all her life.

The emptiness was almost maddening, the silence too much. She nearly wept in happiness when she heard Alfred stumbling beside her, still recovering from the powerful teleportation spell her people had cast on them. She gripped his arm, steadying him. "Alfred?"

He righted himself up quickly, though he eyed his feet warily, prepared for their inevitable betrayal when they would lead him off again. "I'm alright. What about you?"

"Yes," she said quickly, her nails digging into his coat sleeve. The velvet of his clothes was coarse against her fingers, not like the downy softness of a Sartan's robes. "I suppose we should get ourselves comfortable."

Being of Sartan-make, she knew the Vortex would never let her and Alfred want for food or drink. It was a bubble of safety, the magic in its space still strong. All they had to do was stay in the white.

The brightness of the floor, the walls- it was hurting her eyes so much.

Alfred looked around, confusion lighting his features, his eyes that could peel through barriers now burning with questions. "We are in the Labyrinth…"

"The center of it," Orla confirmed. "We are safe here though." Yes, the Vortex would see to all of their needs, would keep them protected from the creations they had made.

She had made.

It didn't matter that Samah had been the one who orchestrated it all, swaying the Council members to tear apart their world for the greater good. She had helped, she had allowed it all. She may as well have killed that Patryn man's parents.

"I'm sorry, Orla," Alfred was saying, his mild voice cutting through her thoughts easily. "If I hadn't done what I-"

"I spoke against him," Orla interrupted, remembering the hand that she couldn't feel. "I told him I couldn't abide this anymore." The smile she gave was bitter. "He was never one to listen to different opinions."

_I spoke against him, and now I will die._

As long as she stayed in here, away from the Gates that marked the Labyrinth's path, she did not need to fear death. Even so, the thought came with a certainty.

She was not sure how exactly- she had already seen the images from Alfred, of monsters tearing the bodies of a man and woman apart. But here, with memories that only consisted of a small girl and her trees, of a young woman with a man who was leading her down with a barren smile, it was strange to be separate. If she was not Samah's wife, then what was she? If she had other things to hold onto, other moments that were her own… but the holes in her head hadn't left. She recalled Samah holding out his hand to her, and shuddered.

Alfred was still trying to take it all, trying to shoulder all the blame on his head. That was why he was always so stooped, why Samah would stand proud and tall in return. "This is still all my fault, Orla. I never meant for you to get into such…" He could barely finish the thought, the reality of the situation slowly sinking into his head. "I couldn't even save that poor girl on Draknor, and instead I've just made a mess of things-"

"Alfred. Don't. Please."

She laid her fingers against his mouth, an echo of what she had done before when he had protested her resignation. He remained silent, still so confused, still so guilty. But he was the wrong person to apologize for anything.

"All that you have done was try to wake us up from our sleep. We may as well have stayed in our chambers, for all the good that we did. And it had been so long that I think we preferred the dreams to what was really happening."

Even so, she had been exhausted, weary, too much so to keep her thoughts in line. She'd had little time for sleep back in Surunan- from the meetings, the accusations, the dragon-snakes. She and Alfred had all the time in the world here.

_But I spoke against him, and now I will die._

She had seen female mensch mourn for their husbands, throwing themselves on a funeral pyre in their horrid practices.  _They seemed so savage. How could we see them any other way?_ For what is a wife without her husband? What to do when half of you is torn? Sartan did not consider such things, though it was not uncommon for the sadness to consume one whole -wife or husband- until the demigod must fade away.

But she was a wife that had been banished and forgotten from a husband who wanted nothing more to do with her. He would not fade, no, but would she? And would he even follow her down the dark? She knew the answer, sad as it was.

Hands gripped her shoulders, gentle and kind. More than she had ever known.

"Orla, I-" Alfred started to speak, stammered, his eyes flitting from the floor to her face. "I've wanted to… I mean, I've been meaning to tell you… It's just, I've been so used to hiding and trying to deny who I was that it's…difficult…"

She realized what he meant then.

"There are no Brothers and Sisters to judge you if you keep it a secret, Alfred."

He stared at her, barely noticing when she took one of his hands off her shoulder, holding it near her chest.

"I am a Sartan also, to my sorrow." She smiled, feeling ready to cry. "And I would just like to forget, if I could." Because remembering proved too painful, especially when seeing Samah at the end of the road.

"I don't understand," Alfred said softly.

That was alright. She barely did herself.

Orla leaned against him, her face pressed against his shabby coat, clutching his hand to her still. She appreciated these sensations; the heat from his skin, the gentle thrumming in her head from the closeness, and even the quiet surrounding them. Because it no longer felt overwhelming, just hushed and pleasant, giving her a place to think.

It was a few moments before she felt his arm circle around her. She could feel the force of his heart beating against his chest, feel her own breath shortening. She was warm here, filled. There was still some emptiness, the furniture pushed far close to the walls, letting the drafts in, and Samah's presence still lingered around her head, but it was overwhelmed by Alfred's own love for her. And she wanted this love for her own, to give to him in return.

Because who could make her weep like this, or could make her believe that the images of two people holding onto each other, desperate and lost of everything else in their lives, lost in this moment, could actually be hers? And no one -least of all, her husband- could take this away from her. At least, not now. Not now.

His touch was soft, sending her thrills. An old fool could be permitted this, just once.

And Alfred, she would later think of fondly, was very, very gentle- in all his ways.


End file.
